by Chris Hechtl
She smiled and nodded politely to other patrons as she went over, flashed her paper receipt, then took the steaming paper cup.
“You like them sugary,” a young man said, shaking his head.
“I like sweet things,” Katherine replied, smiling slightly as she daintily took her first sip. “Ah, tooth rottening as always,” she said with a sigh of pleasure.
The young human chuckled.
“You must love your dentist, ma'am, or be a masochist,” he said, shaking his head.
“I brush regularly,” she said in a dismissive tone of voice. She looked around the room. Most of the seats were taken. He edged over. “You can sit here, ma'am; I don't bite,” he said.
She smiled. “Thanks, but I'll take a seat outside,” she waved a hand.
“Please, Lieutenant, it's no trouble,” he said. Her eyes narrowed at her rank. She was in civilian dress. “It's not the eyes and features if you thought it was that. You are exotic but not that exotic,” he said.
“Really?” she asked coolly. She stepped aside as another patron went up to get his order. “What gave me away? Or are you a stalker?” she asked.
“Not with ONI watching you like a Denubian dactyl, ma'am,” he said with a rueful shake of his head.
That surprised her. She blinked, and then took a sip of her latte to get over her surprise.
“One of the charms of Peter and Anne's is the privacy,” he said. “You know about the free WiFi of course,” he said. She nodded. “Well,” he indicated politely that she should sit across from him. She slowly slid onto the seat, warily watching him. “P&A also has some antilistening tech installed to protect its clientele, many of which are staffers or runners for famous people. You don't want your place being marked as a spy joint,” he said. “That is also why they have discrete security and special blocking transmissions to prevent someone from swiping your credentials or accessing a phone or tablet remotely,” he explained.
He picked up his cup and then took a sip.
“My, my. I hadn't known things were like that on Bek,” she murmured, taking her own sip of her latte.
“You aren't that naïve, ma'am,” he said with a shake of his head. “I honestly did regret not going into the navy for a long time. With Childress back in charge though, I'm glad I stuck with civil service instead,” he said.
“So you are a spy?” she asked.
He snorted. “Hardly. My name is Charles, I'm an aide to L'r'kk and President K'k'R'll.”
“I see,” Katherine replied slowly. “I thought it was security following me, not ONI,” she said with a frown.
“They can serve as both. ONI has been tasked to keep an eye on your crew and the passengers. Admiral Childress doesn't want you talking to anyone who might pass on messages like I was tasked to do.”
“Oh?” she asked, taking another sip. “So should I be listening to you at all?”
“That's up to you, ma'am. President K'k'R'll has asked to meet you. Admiral Childress hasn't allowed any contact between the administration and your crew at this time for reasons of security and privacy,” he said, smiling thinly.
“I … see,” she said thoughtfully. She picked up a stir straw and used it to stir her drink.
“The president believes he has mail from Admiral Irons, but they've gone, let's say, astray,” he said casually, flicking his free hand as the other held his cup. “And any attempt to pass on a message to Admiral Irons has been … filtered, let's say.”
“That's not good,” Katherine said, thinking hard. She shook her head. “I can't meet with the president. I'm sorry, but I can't get involved.”
He frowned then nodded. “That's too bad, ma'am. We need something done about Admiral Childress; he's threatened a military coup,” he said quietly. She sat back and made a stirring motion with her fingers. “It's not good.”
“Not for you no.”
“Not for the Federation at all,” he said. He pushed a napkin over to her. “You um …” he indicated her lower lip.
She picked up the folded napkin and dabbed at her mouth and chin. “Better?”
“You got it,” he said with a smile.
“Thanks,” she said dryly, letting the chip he'd folded into the paper fall into her hand.
“I hope free speech is something still practiced in the outer Federation. And information, true information needs to get into the hands of those who need to know,” he said pointedly.
She nodded slowly, dropping her hand to the table, then to her side to slip the chip into her pocket. She'd attempted to access it with her implants through her palm jack. She'd found it had a proper government header and cover letter. She hadn't read it, just skimmed it into her memory. The rest was a series of encrypted files that Admiral Irons would have to deal with on his own, she thought.
She didn't believe she was doing cloak and dagger shit, especially against her own ONI. Thoughts like accusations of treason came to mind. But was it really treason if she was passing on a message to her commander in chief? She wasn't certain. Obviously her implants weren't complaining about it. She briefly worried about them reporting her actions to ONI but then put the thought aside.
“I know you are on liberty for another day or so. If you change your mind, the contact information is there, and you can look it up in the public directory, ma'am,” he said with a smile. “I know we'd love the photo op. I know a lot of people would love to spend the night in the Presidential House. It is a rare thing,” he said with a smile.
She snorted. “Maybe next time I'm here, Charles,” she said. She finished off her latte and rose from her chair. He rose as well.
“Thank you for an interesting morning, ma'am,” he said, eyes imploring her to go along with the plot.
“No, thank you I think,” she said. She shook her head.
He finished his drink as she threw her cup away and then went to the little girl's room.
~<><{<^>}><>~
Outside the coffee shop, Lieutenant Dvorsky was brashly approached by the ONI team shadowing her. She'd seen the human and Veraxin in her wake but had thought it had been for her own protection. “Lieutenant,” the human male said as he hurriedly approached her.
She turned. She'd noted she had been followed since she'd left the port, but up until that moment, she had thought it had been for her own safety and security. Now I'm not so sure, she thought. He was a nondescript man, average—average height and build, average complexion, brown hair, gray overcoat, in other words forgettable. At least he had that part down about ONI field work she noted with a corner of her mind.
“Ma'am, your recent contact …”
“Who are you?” she demanded, eyeing the young man.
“That doesn't matter,” the young man said mulishly, eyes flashing.
“The hell it doesn't,” she said, eyeing him coldly. “My business is my own. Go bother someone else,” she ordered.
The young man flushed. His older Veraxin partner stared at her with all four eyestalks and blocked her path. “Answer the question, Lieutenant. Who was that, and what did he want?” he demanded.
She frowned thoughtfully. She pinged them, but neither man had an implant. Judging from the human's haircut, he was definitely military.
When she just continued to stare at them, they finally folded a bit. “We're with the Office of Naval Intelligence,” the Veraxin said, flashing her an ID. She caught sight of it briefly before he put it away. He didn't know it, but she had an active memory and implants. She shunted her short-term visual memory into a file to grab a screen grab of the ID. She also set her implants to record the event.
“And your interest in me is?” she asked, eyeing them as she crossed her arms. “I seem to be out of uniform and on liberty. That means I am off duty. I also didn't get your names or ranks,” she said, jutting her chin out to the human partner expectantly.
“Just answer the question, ma'am. Unless you'd like to answer it in an office of our choosing,” the Veraxin stated.
“And mak
e a scene?” she asked, looking around them. They could all feel the curious looks coming their way. She could see the human partner squirm in discomfort. “Fine then. He was nice. Charles, I think was his name. He'd never seen someone like me,” she said. “I didn't know I was that exotic, but apparently, I am.” She shrugged. “A social butterfly interested in my out-of-the-star-system status or something,” she said indifferently.
“And?” the human asked.
“And I think it is none of your business,” she said pointedly, turning her black shark-like eyes his way.
“What did he want?” the Veraxin demanded in a seething tone of voice. He practically buzzed in anger, Katherine noted.
“He wanted me to meet his boss. He offered a tour of the presidential mansion, a photo op, and overnight time with him in a room there, but I declined. I'm not interested in being picked up. I'm busy, and I'm on liberty for the next several days before I report back. My liberty time is off limits to everyone. How I choose to spend it is my problem. Now, do you have a problem with that?” she demanded, eyeing the pair.
When neither responded she waved a hand. They instinctively tensed at the motion and then noted their public surroundings and the people watching them warily. “Now, you can go back to keeping the paparazzi and nut jobs off me and I can go back to pretending I'm having a good time,” she said acidly.
The Veraxin poked his partner and scuttled off. The human male shot her a fulminating look then took off trailing his partner. Once they got to a safe distance, they seemed to confer.
So Charles had been right, she thought. That alone told her something was going on that the brass, the real brass, needed to know about. She hated the cloak and dagger nature of it all and drawing her into it didn't make her feel good about the situation, but better here than one of the kids they had on her ship.
She thoughtfully fingered the chip in her pocket. She hadn't mentioned it, mainly out of spite. She wondered briefly what else was on it that they didn't want Admiral Irons to see. She wasn't sure she should have stuck her neck out, but she hadn't liked how they'd come on to her. She'd taken a couple classes in ONI and didn't remember keeping your own people under surveillance and away from the local government on any of the courses taught.
She frowned but then pretended to shrug such considerations off. She nodded to the people passing by who'd slowed to looky-loo, then went on her way.
~<><{<^>}><>~
Lieutenant Olson did his best to fit in, but it was hard. It wasn't just because he was an outsider looking in; it was also easily known that he was new to being a flag lieutenant. Couple that to a flag officer who was also out and looking in and it was difficult if not impossible for him to perform his duties without feeling a crushing weight on his shoulders … and the instinctive urge to constantly look over his shoulder.
He wasn't certain why he and his boss were pariahs. It was obvious that the other officers knew it, but none were talking. They actively avoided talking to either of them unless duty required it.
So, he'd done the next best thing; he'd found some time to talk to some of the enlisted. Most were clueless or were feigning it to keep their heads down. The prevailing opinion was that everyone was ducking and doing their best to cover their own ass before an axe fell.
Which didn't help him or Commodore Logan a whole hell of a lot he mused darkly. He needed, no, they needed to find a way to get the commodore into where he was supposed to be. But that didn't seem to be happening any time soon. Whenever he got a chance he staked out the breakroom to chat with the enlisted. He got to know many of them; they were paper pushers who hadn't expected to be in such a boring job. All but one was also in college studying for other roles that they wanted outside the military. There was something there about mustangs he'd gotten wind of, but couldn't quite put his finger on.
He stirred the commodore's coffee and thought about assembling a tray of snacks to tempt him, but he knew the commodore didn't snack much. He frowned, toying with his options when motion out of the corner of his eye caught his attention. He turned to see a one-meter-tall female Neocat commander enter the break room for a snack.
“Can I help you with something, ma'am? You aren't familiar,” he said.
“That's because I usually haunt BuPers,” the female said. She was a tan with streaks of black along her spine he realized. Well, under her uniform he thought, turning away in embarrassment. She must have some Lynx or Bobcat genes mixed with some other cats. Serval?
“Something bothering you, Lieutenant?” she asked as she rummaged through the cupboards, obviously looking for something.
“I …,” he instinctively pinged her IFF but she of course didn't have one. He cocked his head.
“Out with it,” she said, turning golden eyes his way.
He straightened. “Sorry, ma'am, I was checking your IFF,” he said.
“Oh?”
“Yes, ma'am. I didn't recognize you and …,” he shrugged helplessly.
“Think I'm a spy who came in to steal your … ah ha!” she said triumphantly as she took out a box with a mouse on it. “I thought so!” she said with a grin as she pulled out the box of mouse, tuna, and catnip flavored treats.
“My name is Alisha Tisdail if you were wondering,” the Neocat supplied as she opened the top of the box and then flipped a couple treats into her mouth. She crunched happily. “You wouldn't believe it, but these things are addictive,” she said. She offered one.
He held his free hand up. “I'll take your word for it, ma'am,” he said with a wry smile.
“Suit yourself. More for me,” she said with a feline smile as she flicked her ears. “I heard your boss is trying to find another posting,” she said.
He was suddenly very alert. He nodded. “Yes, ma'am. He was supposed to be in the yard itself, ma'am.”
“He is. Well, BuShips at any rate,” she said with a shake of her head. She pulled out some more treats and then looked around. He thought she was looking for a bowl so he turned and pulled one out for her.
“Make it a mug. So I can hide the evidence,” she said, jutting her chin back to the cupboard. He smiled, put the small bowl back and pulled out a navy blue ceramic mug with gold trim on it. “Not that one,” she said.
He examined it, noted the crest and then put it away. He pulled out another, this one with no gold trim and just the navy logo on it. “This okay, ma'am?”
“Perfect,” she purred, holding the box out. He held the mug patiently as she poured her purloined treat into it. “Thanks,” she said, flipping the box closed, and then putting it back with a pat. “So no one is the wiser,” she said with a wink as she closed the cupboard door and gave him a wink as she took the mug.
“Right,” he drawled. “Would you like a cup of milk with that, ma'am?” he offered.
She snorted, eyeing him over her mug. “Don't stereotype,” she warned.
“Sorry, ma'am, couldn't resist.”
“At least you didn't offer cream,” she sighed, flicking her ears. “Just the smell,” she said, smelling the mug. “I'll have to cover it or something. Just getting through my own office with it will be a pain in the butt …,” she muttered.
“I suppose I should eat them here. Easier to hide the evidence,” she said, leaning against the lower cupboards. “So, what is your boss doing other than gnashing his teeth and shuffling papers? I understand he's rather good at it. Missed his calling?” she asked.
Pietro snorted. “Hardly, ma'am. He and I have implants, so we can process things faster,” he said.
“I see. So it's just the implants?” she asked, eyeing him.
He shrugged. “When your job is to compare an electronic form with two printed versions, it's not that difficult a job, ma'am. We catch more errors than the staff does,” he said, indicating the outer office. She leaned forward to look, then went back to crunching her snack.
“So, he's got some spare time. Would he consider lending me a hand?” she asked.
“With …?” h
e asked carefully as he stirred in some creamer into the commodore's coffee.
“More paperwork. In this case going over a list of names. Actually,” she grimaced. “I need to generate more names. I know Caroline can handle more than just the seven we've got so far. The problem is …,” she shrugged helplessly.
“Problems, ma'am?” Pietro asked as he finished with the stirring. He rinsed the spoon off in the sink and then wiped it with a paper towel. “I believe Caroline was tasked to carry back experienced officers and noncoms. Preferably those with combat experience if possible,” he said, “and able to be flexible about implants and learning starship technology in a short time period,” he said, looking up as he accessed his notes. After a moment, he looked down and nodded.
He heard a crunch and looked over to her. She flicked some crumbs off her whiskers. “Pretty much the orders I got, but I don't know how many. Part of the problem is Caroline doesn't have flag accommodations. She's a warship not a transport,” she said with a grimace, ears back. “So of course the brass isn’t interested in going. I've only got the two so far.”
“I feel for you, ma'am. You are on a tight schedule too and a ticking clock.”
“Exactly. And I can't draw on anyone in Bek B of course, and I have to find people who can go now and can get here before the ship departs.”
“I've been saddled with a near impossible problem for my sins in other words. Any input from the commodore I'll find helpful,” she suggested. She palmed a few treats then seemed to be near the bottom of the mug.
“Yes, ma'am, I can put you in contact with him,” the lieutenant replied with a relieved nod. He watched her tip the mug back to knock the last crumbs into her mouth. She crunched them away, looking at him with golden laughing eyes as she dropped the cup down and then reached over to casually upend it on top of the drying wrack. He snorted. He saw that she'd palmed a few of the treats. She flicked one up into the air and then snapped it with her mouth. Crunching followed.
“I know it's not nice to play with my food, but I'm in a mood,” she said with a mischievous flick of her ears.